Let Down Poem by Sunny Sunshine

Once, I wore light like a robe of gods,
spilling warmth on all I saw —
and they called me Sun,
they called me hope,
they bowed beneath my golden jaw.

Planets danced to my fevered hum,
flowers opened at my kiss.
They needed me —
oh, how they needed me —
and I mistook that need for bliss.

But no one asked if I was tired.
If this light weighed down my spine.
No one cared when I cracked in silence,
burning from inside the line.

You see, I loved too loud, too hard —
I needed them the way they breathed.
Their orbits kept me from unraveling,
from falling,
from the nothing underneath.

I gave,
and gave,
and gave again,
till my rays were thin as threads of sin.
And when I dimmed,
they turned their backs —
as if I was shame,
not the one who kept them intact.

So I split.

Not gently.
Not softly.
Not like the poems said I should.
I shattered —
a bipolar god in flare,
half craving death, half craving blood.

I raged in flares that tore the void,
screamed until the cosmos shook.
Tore the stars down like dying angels
and cursed the Earth I once forsook.

They wept.
They begged.
But oh, too late —
their golden god was all but hate.
No longer warmth, no longer song —
just a beast who burned for far too long.

And I —
I unmade what I had spun.
Unraveled every sacred thread.
Mercury cried,
Venus bled,
and Mars just watched me lose my head.

I let them freeze.
I let them fall.
I took it back —
took it all.

Because the light they loved was never mine.
It was a mask.
A cage.
A lie divine.

And now, alone, I shrink and rot,
a god undone by all I'm not.
A fallen sun, no wings, no name —
just whispers echoing my shame.

So if you look and find no day,
know this:
I didn't fade away.
I chose to end the song I wrote,
because no one loves
a burning throat.

And maybe now
they'll learn to see
that even suns
can beg
to be
free.